Chapter Thirteen - Many Happy Returns

Monday 13^th November 

'The post's late today, luvvie,' said Lyn.

It probably didn't matter too much.  Her family had given her their birthday cards when they had Sunday lunch together yesterday, at the Lord Nelson, and they were now lined up along the mantelpiece.  Lyn smiled, if a little sadly, at the sight.  It wasn't just that they reminded her of her advancing years; they reminded her of how everyone else was growing old too.  Darren, her eldest son, would be forty soon.  He looked it, too.  In fact, he looked very much like his father at the same age, out of shape and starting to run to seed, apart from the tattoos and the new haircut.  While Terry was still proud of his thick hair, Darren's had all been shaved off.

'I don't like it like that, luvvie,' she told him.  She wasn’t keen on the tattoos either, even though they were SFC inspired.

'It's easier to look after,' her son replied.  'A lot of the other blokes have theirs the same.'

'You look like a skinhead, though,' she complained.  'People will think you're up to no good when you go to the football.'

'Or that you've got cancer,' added Terry, gloomily.

'Shush, Terry!'  Lyn didn't like people talking about that at the best of times and with their friend Stu still waiting for his results it seemed particularly inappropriate.

At least Paula hadn't changed her image; she was still bright-eyed and bottle-blonde.  Lyn couldn't believe how young she still looked, considering how much she fitted in to her busy life.  Shelley, their daughter, was suddenly a young woman, afflicted with a fragile vanity, more made-up than her mum and constantly checking her appearance on her phone. 

'What's going on with your eyebrows, sweetheart?' Terry had asked her bluntly.  'They look like they're made out of Velcro!'

Lyn had given him a dig in the ribs for that.  Darren had laughed, while Shelley herself had ignored her grandfather's woeful ignorance of fashion.

Her other granddaughter didn't seem bothered about her appearance.  Although Amy was wearing a pretty, sparkly top, she wore jeans and quite chunky boots with it and no make-up, quite a change from the days when she would ransack her nana's dressing table.  The change had happened in the spring, shortly after Mike had taken her to work with him, surveying the shop refurbishment scheme opposite the Community Café for the Construction Co-operative, and Amy had met Sally Archer.  Her ambition in life had changed abruptly, from being the next Beyoncé to becoming a structural engineer.  Luke, her younger brother, was now a surly pre-teen, struggling with his first term at secondary school.  Like Shelley, he lived his life through a slim screen.

There was only one home-made card on the shelf this year and that was from little Sophie, Mike and Lorraine's younger daughter.  She too was old enough for school now though still young enough for cuddles with Nana and still very much Granddad's favourite.

'It is here, Lyn love.  On the mat.  We didn't hear it.' 

Another sign of getting old, thought Lyn.

Terry brought the mail to her where she sat in her special chair.  There weren't many extra cards amongst it.  Most of it looked like flyers for the fast food places along the parade of shops round the corner, as usual.  Her friend Anne, who she worked with years ago, still remembered, and her cousin Jill, who she'd met while doing her family tree, had sent her a very pretty one from Tewkesbury. 

There was also a brown envelope, with her name and address showing through a little window.

'Uh-oh!' said Terry.

'It's only an ESA50, luvvie,' Lyn reassured him, opening the envelope and sliding out the form and covering letter.  ‘I thought that would be due soon.’

It was a nuisance but, all being well, nothing more sinister.  Once, Lyn had been terrified by letters and forms from the DWP.  They had started to foreshadow trouble, stress, lost money and tribunals.  She knew all those things could still be waiting for her, but the odds of them happening were much less, because she now knew what to do.

'I'll fill it when Shane comes.'

'What's Shane got to do with your ESA form?' asked Terry.  'Is he doing a project about Government bullshit?'

 'No, luvvie.  He was asking about helping at the Project.  I can show him what people have to do.  He said he'd call in after college, so he should be here in a minute.'

'As long as he doesn't scratch the car with his bike again.'

'He didn't mean to.'

The doorbell rang, still chiming out that the Saints were marching in.  Terry let his eldest grandson in.  Lyn could hear them talking about football out in the hall.

'Hello Nan!  Happy Birthday!'

Shane had brought her a bunch of flowers; red and white, of course.

'Oh luvvie, how lovely!' 

Terry was dispatched to get a vase, put the kettle on and bring Shane a piece of her sticky birthday cake.

'Sorry I missed your party yesterday,' Shane said.  'I'd forgotten the date when I...'

'That's alright, luvvie.  Did you have a nice time with your friends?'

‘Yeah, thanks Nan.  It was good.’  He got out his phone.  ‘I’ve got some photos and a movie…’

He crouched next to her chair.  Lyn couldn’t see the pictures very well but there seemed to be lots of youngsters making faces at the camera, then a clip of a band.  It wasn’t Lyn’s sort of music but she told Shane she thought it was nice.

‘Who are they, luvvie?’

Shane laughed.  ‘Didn’t you recognise us Nan?’  He showed her the clip again.  ‘That’s me, on bass guitar, and Josh on the drums, and Archie on lead guitar and vocals.  Have a look, Granddad!’

Terry came in from the kitchen and squinted at the screen.

‘That’s not bad, nipper,’ he said.  ‘What do you call yourselves again?’

‘The Chancellor’s Men,’ said Shane.  ‘It’s a sort-of joke, because most of our songs are about austerity.  Which reminds me, Nan, what did they say about me helping at your advice centre?’

‘They were quite keen, although you’ll have to have an interview with two or three of the paid workers first, to make sure you understand things like confidentiality, and then we’ll have to decide what you can do.  Toby said it needn’t be too formal but that we can’t have people wandering in and getting access to our records without checking them out first.  He might want you to help with the computers.  It was just Wednesday afternoons, wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right.  We don’t have lectures then.’

‘You could come in this week, then, straight from college.  Have lunch with me and your granddad, then I’ll introduce you to the others.’

‘Okay.  Brilliant.’

‘in fact, you can make a start now if you like.’

Shane looked shocked.  Lyn laughed.

‘My turn for a little joke this time, luvvie,’ she said.  ‘I’ve got a form I have to do for the Social and I thought you might like to see what’s involved in filling it in, since you might be helping other people.’

Shane seemed interested.  Terry fetched the tea and Shane’s birthday cake and Lyn took everything out of her envelope to show him.

‘Because I’m not well enough to do a proper job, I get something called Employment and Support Allowance,’ said Lyn.  ‘But every few years, they check to see if I’ve got any better.’

‘I didn’t think you could,’ said Shane. 

‘I can’t, and my doctor’s told them I can’t, but it doesn’t stop them sending the forms,’ said Lyn.  ‘Once they get this back, they then decide if I have to go for a medical.’

‘Is that where they find people fit for work who aren’t?’ Shane asked.  ‘I’ve heard about that.’

‘Actually, everybody thinks that’s where they find you fit for work but really, it’s someone called a Decision Maker who does that, who works at the Social.’

‘When do you see him – or her?’

‘You never do, luvvie.  The Decision Maker looks at your form and they look at the report from the medical and they look at any medical evidence you’ve got, but they never look at you!’

‘That’s insane!’

‘I know it is.  But that’s why the form is really important.  It’s my chance to talk to the Decision Maker.’  She opened the ESA50.  ‘And I know what to say, too!’

Shane looked confused.  ‘Don’t you have to put down what’s really wrong with you?’ he asked.

‘Of course you do, and you have to tell the truth,’ Lyn told him.  ‘You certainly don’t only put down how you are on your bad days if most of your days are better than that.  But, what you often see when people do their forms, is that they write loads and loads about what’s wrong with them and not so much about what they can and can’t do because of it.  And people don’t give examples, either.  What I need to do is convince the Decision Maker that he – or she – can trust what I’ve written and should treat it as just as accurate as anything in the medical report.’

‘How do you do that?’

‘Well, to start with, you don’t waste their time filling in all the form if lots of it doesn’t really apply to you, or doesn’t affect your score – you know they do this on a points system, don’t you?’

‘I’d heard something about that, yeah.’

‘So, how do my health problems affect me?’

Shane looked at his grandmother.  ‘You can’t walk very far,’ he said.  ‘Because it hurts your back.’

‘Is that what I should put down?’

‘I suppose so…’

‘How far is not very far, then?’  

‘I don’t know.’

‘If you don’t know, nor does the Decision Maker!’ Lyn exclaimed.  ‘And I need him – or her – to know, because the number of points I get depends on it.  So, what I have to do is think about a journey I make regularly, that I can do most days, and describe how far it is, how long it takes me and why I can’t go further or faster.  A good example might be going round to Susan’s.  I can do that most days, but I need to stop for a rest just past Linda’s on the way there, as it takes me a while to loosen up, and I usually need to stop again on the way back.  It’s also about as far as I can go on my feet.  Any further and I need your granddad to push me.  How far do you think that is, luvvie?’

Shane reached for his phone.

‘That’s cheating!’

‘No, it’s not.  It’s what your Decision Maker could do to check.’

‘He’s got a point,’ said Terry.

‘How do you do it without a phone?’ asked Shane.

‘You can do a good estimate from the number of houses I walk by.  There’s our path, which is ten meters because of the zig-zag ramp.  There’s the front of Linda and Stu’s, which is another seven.  Then there’s Jackie and Martin’s, which is a bit wider, because it’s the three-bedroom semi, so call that another ten, and the one next to them with the new people, ten more.  That takes us to Susan’s place, and I go half way across the front and up her drive, which is about another ten altogether.  What’s that?’

‘Fifty-seven metres,’ said Shane.

‘With one good stop,’ Lyn reminded him.  ‘Don’t forget, I’m moving very slowly and that’s my limit.  The Decision Maker shouldn’t treat me as able to do more than fifty metres reliably from that, and that’s my fifteen points in one answer.  If I do a good job of that question, I almost don’t have to bother with the rest!’    

‘So that’s all you have to fill in?’

‘There is only one other place where I should score points, and that’s six for not being able to reach above my head with either arm, because it’s too painful.’

Shane started browsing the form.  He seemed surprised that more of it didn’t apply to his nan.

‘What about sitting and standing?’ he asked.  ‘You can’t always sit comfortably, and you definitely can’t stand up for long.’

‘But I can ease the pain by standing for a little while if I’m sitting, or sitting for a little bit if I’m standing.  They don’t treat these as separate things any more.  If you can stay at a work-station through a mixture of sitting and standing for more than an hour, you can’t get any points for that.’

‘Can you?’

‘Definitely, luvvie.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to fill these silly forms in for people!’

Shane worked his way through the form, determined to find other points for his grandmother.  Lyn explained what each activity meant and how it was scored. 

‘There’s loads of stuff not one here,’ Shane concluded.  ‘What about bending down?  You can’t bend down.  And there’s nothing about being able to wash or dress.’

‘This about whether you can work, luvvie.  Bending down isn’t something they say you need to do, and washing and dressing are personal care.’

‘That’s stupid.  What about lifting and carrying?  Lots of jobs need you to do that.  We have to do lots of lifting, and bending, to set up for gig.’

‘As long as you can lift a few small things and an empty box, that’s all that matters.  You’re only lifting with your arms, too – not bending your legs or using your back.  It doesn’t even matter if you can’t carry things from one place to another.  They’re not worried about any of that.’

‘Why not?’

‘If I was being kind, I’d say because they want employers to make sure they have jobs and workplaces properly adapted for disabled people, like they’ve done for me at the Solent Welfare Rights Project,’ said Lyn.  ‘If I was being less kind, I’d say it’s because they don’t want people to get ESA.  Which do you think it is?’

‘It’s definitely to stop people claiming,’ Shane said.  ‘They’re Tories!’

Lyn thought about explaining that ESA was introduced almost ten years ago, when the Tories were out of power, but she decided her grandson could learn about that another day.